Clarity
by hophophop
Summary: Part 4 of Dark and Deep, a series of related stand-alone stories. "I know that you lied to me." As quick as his mind often was, careful consideration didn't always come easy, particularly with emotional matters. (It's possible this was a gross understatement.) Set before 1x16, "Details" but assumes knowledge of that episode.


_"I know that you lied to me..."_

* * *

His father's snide comment on the phone made clear in an instant what he should have realized weeks ago, but he immediately shunted the information aside to address the more pressing concern. Make the arrangements, agree to the disagreeable terms, choke out the expected filial remarks. Calling the kidnapper was a lark after that.

Watson was herself visibly shaken to hear he'd contacted his father, and if he'd had to look at her much longer he would have said something to regret. It was useful to have the ransom procedure to focus on, an excuse to send her out of the room, and an opportunity to clarify things with Rhys.

He would not have predicted that the day could have gone downhill from there, but then it did.

* * *

M — Moriarty, now — and the events surrounding the... what to call it? Session? Interview? with Moran had pulled the rug out from under him, to use an absurdly slapstick metaphor. He felt as if all his elaborate mental buttresses and fortifications had been blasted away, and there was little left for him to hide behind. This was real clarity, and it was frightening.

In the weeks following the debacle he had become acutely conscious of the temptations, the ubiquitous opportunities to fail, so many more of them than he'd let himself believe before. It was, he conceded, better to know just how fragile his supposed recovery actually was. To use that dismal terminology, he had been powerless to escape his need for vengeance. (At least its physiological impact was negligible in comparison to heroin's grip.) Would he have fallen to something else, if not Moriarty and Moran? Could he still?

The fact that Watson hadn't even attempted to raise the subject of his behaviour and continued to ignore any reference to those events told him it went far beyond the usual bounds of addict downfall. It was humbling, leave it at that.

Having to face Drummond and be reminded of the terrible truths she laid out in that fucking article was yet another sucker punch he had to endure. That he deserved. Remarkable, indeed, how the ego continually reinflates itself, although he was starting to feel somewhat less resilient in that regard.

No more allowances. The prescient irony of suggesting Watson should lie to his father about him having new difficulties was both disturbing and ludicrous, in retrospect. Fitting, that she should resort to lying to him about it in the end.

* * *

As he waited for the blue van, he acknowledged it was better to have some breathing room between discovering Watson's deceit and having any opportunity to confront her. Rhys's wretched attempt to help his daughter by giving him cocaine set in motion a chain of events. Following them through to the end would at least belay his impulse to act out.

In the past he'd relished releasing his anger spontaneously, forcefully, severely — like crashing a car or stabbing someone in the gut. It made him shudder now to imagine what he might have said to Watson in the moment.

He'd gotten that far in processing his reaction to her deception when it became clear that the ransom exchange wasn't going to happen. Escaping from his attackers and negotiating with the agent took over until the gunfire went off. Two shots resounded from his phone and his only thought was Watson.

He wasn't sure how much more clarity he could take.

* * *

While he waited for her to wake up, he deliberately examined two hypothetical outcomes of the day:

First, he could have expressed the anger. Part of him still burned from the humiliation of listening to his father's sardonic voice unwittingly expose her pretense. (Part of him always burned from having anything to do with his father.) He was quite certain that this would have been done in a manner that would have severed all ties between them.

Second, she could have been killed in the house that morning. It was very difficult to proceed past that statement.

...

Why had she not told him? Why had she stayed? Why did she risk her life this morning?

Why didn't she say anything?

...

When he had repeated her words back to her that night after Moran, it wasn't the addiction counseling he had in mind. At that moment, after he had tried to be a murderer, after he lost his ability to know what to do, she had stepped closer. That was amazing.

* * *

He found it was quite easy to carry on, not saying what he knew. He made some changes, and she noticed, and they each continued not saying anything. Not a permanent solution, but it kept things simple. As quick as his mind often was, careful consideration didn't always come easy, particularly with emotional matters. (It's possible this was a gross understatement.) Now he had an opportunity to practice that skill and weigh the conflicting reactions brought forth by learning of the lie. When she finally chose to explain it to him, he would be prepared to respond thoughtfully. It would happen any day now, he was certain. Just a little while longer.


End file.
